


Deleted Scenes: The Road So Far (This Time Around)

by 8_Years_of_Silence



Series: The Road So Far (This Time Around) [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-03-27 04:28:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13873137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8_Years_of_Silence/pseuds/8_Years_of_Silence
Summary: One shots from the story, The Road So Far (This Time Around) that were not included in the final edit for one reason or another. Ratings range from K-T, all genres, all characters. Chapter 5: A certain marine is home from his most recent tour and spots a man on the local news that he’s been searchingly for for a long, long time.





	1. Season 1: Chapter 1 Deleted Scene (I)

**Author's Note:**

> **Introduction:** Welcome! I've been planning on posting these for a while now, and since Season 2 is still kicking my butt, I decided to keep my head in the writing zone and the story space by getting some of these written up!
> 
>  **Explanation:** All of the following are one-shot story bits from The Road So Far (This Time Around) that were not included in the story for one reason or another. Some are omitted scenes that were removed from the story due to flow or timing, but still happened in the universe (like tags to an episode). Others are cut scenes, removed entirely from the world of TRSF(TTA) for chronological issues or because I decided to take the story in another direction instead. Each chapter will give the timeline for the scene, a recap of what was happening in that chapter around the time of the scene (so you don't have to go track it down), and the reason it was not included in the story. As a last note, these often go through little-to-no editing, so they'll be a lot rougher than the writing quality you're used to from TRSF(TTA)
> 
> Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Type:** Omitted (removed from the original story, but still happened off-screen)
> 
>  **Summary:** Dean discovers traveling back in time gave him something he thought long lost, and took something away he never thought he would lose.
> 
>  **Characters:** Dean
> 
>  **Timeline:** Takes place at the end of Season 1: Chapter 1
> 
>  **Chapter Recap:** Dean woke up in the Impala outside of Jericho, California, realizing Castiel sent him back ten years into the past. He takes Sam back to Stanford, confident he can stop Brady from killing Jess, and spends the night at the couple's apartment.

 

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Season 1: Chapter 1**

_Deleted Scene_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Dean stared at the kid in the mirror, whose face he barely even recognized. He was young. Too young. It didn't feel right – didn't feel fair. He wasn't sure who it was so unfair against, even.

Himself, sure. It wasn't right that he could look so carefree and young, and feel so old and weighed down. Why shouldn't the youth have come soul deep, huh?

The situation, of course. Who the hell's genius idea was it to put some young, smart-mouthed punk in the driver's seat of the end of the word? He didn't remember feeling so young, so woefully unprepared for what lay ahead, and what they inevitably faced. But staring down that kid's face was a whole different story. This body he had stolen, this life he was overwriting, was a damn child. He had been a friggin'  _child_  when the weight of the world was put on his shoulders.

Not for the last time, Dean wondered just how the hell he and Sammy had made it through the apocalypse.

Green eyes slowly moved across the rest of his bare torso. So much of his flesh was scar-free. It had been, by far, one of the most disconcerting parts of the journey so far. Probably because it hadn't occurred to him and even once it had, he still hadn't expected the reality of it.

Dean had waited a couple hours until he was sure Sammy and his girl were fast asleep and Brady wasn't bursting through the door, before he'd ducked into the bathroom. Even Apocalypse guards deserved bathroom breaks. Of course, it had gone far longer than a usual bathroom break, given that he'd gone to wash his hands, bending over the short apartment sink, and the Samulet had slipped from the neckline of his tee and swung, tauntingly, right under his nose.

Honestly, he totally froze up. Of course, he later scoffed at himself for doing so. This wasn't his body – not 2016 Dean at least. This body still had an amulet his brother had given him when their dad never showed on Christmas, and which he'd worn right next to his heart for fourteen damn years without thought.

A harmless little amulet that one angel had gone and shattered into something much,  _much_  more complicated.

Dean's hand totally did not shake as he pulled the thing up and over his head, staring down at the little cow-horned head with its closed eyes and yet somehow still judgmental face. He set it down on the edge of the counter, unsure what to do with the thing. That decision was saved for a later date by the sudden thought that  _that_ wasn't going to be the only change he'd find.

He had ten years of changes, scars, hurts, marks,  _life,_ that suddenly weren't going to be there at all.

Dean pulled off his outer shirt and tee with steady hands, dropping them to the floor carelessly as he stared at soft skin devoid of so many scars. Sure, there were still marks marring his flesh; he'd gotten himself injured a fair number of times before Sammy had left for college and Dad chased after the yellow eyed demon. But countless scars were missing, including the most conspicuous of all: a hand print burned into his bicep that had never faded.

That plain expanse of flesh stretched over his muscle was so foreign, Dean couldn't quite identify it as  _his_.

Cautiously, like it might incur cosmic consequences, Dean lifted a hand and wrapped his fingers around the unmarred muscle, mirroring point for point where that mark should have been.

"Cas," he muttered, then pulled his hand away when he realized how weird a moment he was having with…well, himself. Because the angel wasn't here. He hadn't made it.

There was no ' _profound bond'_ in this universe, and he couldn't help thinking that, if he stopped everything, there never would be. No Uncle Dean, no little brother at his side through thick and thin, no best friend with personal space issues.

Dean swallowed roughly against the overwhelming wave of loneliness. He ignored the suspicious burn in his chest as he threw his shirts back on and swiped the amulet from the counter. He tossed it in his go bag as he plopped back down on the cough, snagging Sammy's laptop along the way. He had research to do and about five years of shit that needed planning.

He'd figure out what to do about the Samulet later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Reason it wasn't Included** : It didn't fit well with the flow of the story. I felt, for impact, the chapter ended with a much heavier feel on the line about Dean playing bodyguard and thinking about a lonely future without his brother by his side. This would have had to come after that, and somewhat nullified the somber chapter ending. And I'm all about torturing poor Dean :)


	2. Season 1: Chapter 11 Deleted Scene (I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Type:**  Omitted scene (removed from the original story but still happens off-screen)
> 
>  **Summary:** Sam receives a call from Jess who, surprisingly, has a case for them.
> 
>  **Characters:** Sam and Jess
> 
>  **Timeline:** Takes place in Season 1: Chapter 11
> 
>  **Chapter Recap:** Sam and Dean have begun hunting once more, leaving Jess in Boston with her parents. When it comes to the shapeshifter in St. Louis, Dean is successfully able to avoid the entire rapist/murderer accusation fiasco by catching the thing in the sewers before it can impersonate him.

 

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Season 1: Chapter 11**

_Deleted Scene_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"I'm just saying. We could at least  _try_  listening to something from this century," Sam was saying from the passenger side of the Impala. Dean wasn't really listening, considering he was talking utter nonsense. Baby Blasphemy, really.

"How many times I gotta say it, Sammy? Drivers picks the music-"

"-and shotgun shuts his cake hole." Sam rolled his eyes as he dug into his jacket pocket as his phone started vibrating against his side. "And it's Sam."

"Course it is."

The young hunter ignored his brother, since his answer was tantamount to ignoring him first, and stared down at the unfamiliar number on his screen. "Hello?"

"Sam?"

Sam's brow furled immediately and he glanced at his brother with a panicked look that Dean didn't miss. He didn't pull Baby off the road just yet, but he was ready to at a moment's notice. "Jess? What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"Yeah," came the answer down the tinny line, and Sam relaxed marginally at the tone of her voice. It wasn't panicked, but it was still off. She was definitely upset about something. "Yeah, I'm fine. We're all fine. I just…um…"

"What is it? Is it your dad?"

"No, he's okay. Thanks, Sam. I'm- I'm sorry to call you like this-"

"Not at all, Jess. You can always call me, for anything." Sam shook his head at his brother's questioning look, gesturing for him to keep driving. "Tell me what's going on."

"It's… You remember Becky, right? Becky Warren and her brother, Zach?"

Sam's brow tried to furl and rise at the same time, making for an interesting mix of facial expressions his brother would surely call him on if he weren't driving and also trying to listen to the other end of the conversation.

"Yeah, of course I remember them. Why?"

Jess's voice seemed hesitant as she relayed a recent telephone call she'd gotten from Becky. She had been understandably upset, seeing as her brother was currently in jail in St. Louis on suspicion of murdering his girlfriend. Security cameras caught Zach at his apartment at the time of the murder, despite Becky's adamant assurance that he'd spent the evening with her, nowhere near the scene of the crime. She didn't know who it was on that security feed, but it wasn't her brother.

"I know I don't know a lot about your, um, family business. But it just…I don't know, it seemed…"

"Weird?" Dean piped up from the driver's seat, glancing at the phone before catching his brother's expression and throwing a 'what?' look his way. Luckily, Jess didn't seem to hear him, and finished the sentence with a meek 'you're sort of thing.'

Sam missed the days when there wasn't this awkward elephant standing between them labeled 'Supernatural.'

"No, that does sound weird." Dean shot him a look which he ignored. "And I'm happy to help Becky out. We'll look into it, Jess, I promise."

Silent rang down the line after her appreciative thank you. Dean pulled off the freeway at the next exit, flipping a U-ie to get on in the other direction, back the way they came, back towards Missouri. Sam angled himself away from Dean and into the door, as much as a large man could in a small interior space. For his part, his brother took up a not-at-all-subtle whistling tune and kept his eyes locked on the road in front of him and ever so slightly to the left, away from his brother in some cartoon render of privacy. Sam took what he could get.

"How are you?" he asked, softly down the line. She hummed lightly, and he could tell she was smiling, even if the circumstances of their call weren't optimal.

"I'm good. I'm okay." She didn't sound it, but then again, it had only been a couple weeks since the incident. "Dad's doing well. He's mostly healed. Mom mother-henned him to the point where he threatened to move out, so…you know."

The smile fighting for control of his face eventually lost out to that black hole that had burrowed in his chest ever since he left the Moore family home behind.

"Jess, I'm so sorry-"

"It's not your fault, Sam." Her words were soft, but firm and still very much that spitfire girl he'd met two years ago and instantly fell for. "You'd never hurt anyone, least of all me. I know that."

He took a shaky breath, fighting back the water that welled in his eyes. Before he could say anything in return, however, she pushed on. "Thank you for the psychiatrist, by the way. Or, um, thank Bobby for me. She's been really helpful."

"I'm glad to hear it."

Their conversation once more fell to silence, as Sam struggled with what to say in a way he never had with her before.

Eventually, he heard her huff down the line: a little deprecating laugh that usually meant her wicked tongue was about to get the best of someone.

"Dean's there?"

Sam sent a sidelong glance to his brother who immediately looked back, then caught himself, froze, and looked away like he  _hadn't_  obviously been watching and listening. Oh yeah. Real subtle.

"Uh, yeah. He's here."

She huffed again, more of an exhaling of noise than a chuckle but serving the same purpose. "Well call me sometime when he isn't. We'll catch up, without comments about Smurf pajamas or eyebrow waggling."

Sam couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of him or the warm that filled his chest. "I'd like that."

He could hear her smiling down the line. "Bye, Sam."

"Bye, Jess."

He hung up the phone with a smile on his face and an immediately 'bite me' for his brother. He felt good. Not great, but certainly better than he had in weeks. That goodbye had felt a lot less final this time around.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Reason it wasn't Included:** I had this planned out in my head before I ended up writing the section concerning those early hunts. I wasn't sure if I'd end up going into detail with them or condensing them into a summary – the montage of the written world. I ended up condensing them, so this bit did not end up included in the story, but it still happened, at least in my head. Plus, it made for a good little tag.


	3. Season 1: Chapter 11 Deleted Scene (II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Type:** Omitted (removed from the original story, but still happened off-screen)
> 
>  **Summary** : Dean gets the chance for a little payback against a creature that made his life hell last time around.
> 
>  **Characters** : Dean, Sam
> 
>  **Timeline** : Takes place in Season 1: Chapter 11
> 
>  **Chapter Recap** : Sam and Dean have begun hunting once more, leaving Jess in Boston with her parents. When it comes to the shapeshifter in St. Louis, Dean is successfully able to avoid the entire rapist/murderer accusation fiasco by catching the thing in the sewers before it can impersonate him.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Season 1: Chapter 11**

_Deleted Scene_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

It was damp, it was dark, and it was disgusting. It smelled like the boys locker room at that podunk highschool outside Austin they'd spent three weeks at while John hunted down a Shtriga.

Dean rounded another tunnel entrance in the St. Louis sewer system, gun at the ready with silver bullets locked and loaded, flashlight resting atop the barrel, held by his other hand, searching the dark. His deathly serious expression broke at yet another empty space, nose wrinkling and griping right on the tip of his tongue. The damn shapeshifter was here somewhere, he  _knew_  that much. Unfortunately, tunnel systems were a bit of a maze by default, and it wasn't like he remembered the right set of tunnels to the creature's layer from  _ten years ago_.

He didn't even remember where they'd gone down into the sewers. It was one of the manholes outside of Zach's apartment, or the other guy accused of murdering his wife. But Dean didn't know which. Hell, they could have entered the system at any point, if they'd figured it out randomly along the way.

Dean sighed, frustration building. This sucked. When the hell were they gonna get a case where being from the future actually  _helped_? For all the shit it brought reigning down on the weary hunter – the memories and struggle and damn weight of the friggin' world – there should be a plus side. Hunting should be  _easy_  every now and then. Instead, he was spending his Thursday night in shit tunnels searching for a shapeshifter who, if Time decided to be a little bitch, was going to frame him for murder and result in his faked death, which would follow them around for the next year, until Henrikson caught up with them at that bank heist.

Yeah, being from the future just  _rocked_.

Movement ahead caught his attention, and he flashed his light down the expanse of tunnel before him. A glare of white on black and the jarring appearance of eyes in the single circle of light caused Dean to jerk in surprise and no small burst of adrenaline.

The shifter, eyes wide for a second of true surprise, hissed and took of running, darting out of the beam of light.

"Oh no you don't!" Dean shouted obnoxiously loudly, taking after him with reckless speed, considering he could only see quick flashes of where he was going, what with the light bouncing all over the place in his dead run.

But he'd risk facing murder charges with a sprained ankle if it meant he might not have to face them at all.

The shapeshifter was just a few feet in front of him and losing ground as he tried to shake the hunter in the tunnels. But Dean had a personal vendetta in this fight, and he wasn't going to lose just because the guy knew the system layout better. Up ahead, Sam suddenly stepped into the tunnel where it intersected the system at a T. The shapeshifter tried to slide to a halt, seeing a second hunter with gun raised in deadly intent.

Sam fired off two precise shots right into the creature's chest.

Dean, moving too fast to stop, flung himself forward with a battle cry. Sam side-stepped the tackle with wide eyes as his brother flew into the shapeshifter before the dying creature could hit the ground. The two went down hard on the disgustingly damp, slimy cement of the sewer, leaving Sam to stand to the side with a raised brow, half in confusion and half in disgust.

"Overkill, don't you think?" he asked incredulously as Dean sat up, half straddling, half entangled in the now very dead rapist and murderer. He honestly thought his brother would have thrown his hands up in victory had Sam not been there, given the ecstatic and dangerous look on the older Winchester's face.

Dean climbed off the thing, elation filling his chest. No way was this fucker ever impersonating him again. Or anyone, for that matter.

"Nope," he responded to his brother with a wide grin, even as he tried to wipe off the grime and slime covering way too much of him. "Trust me, Sammy. This one needed to go down."

Bitchface #12 was back on his brother's face, but he didn't even care. Not this time. He gave the dead shapeshifter an extra little kick as they headed out of the sewers and into a much better morning than last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Reason it wasn't Included:** Those early hunts ended up condensed in a montage more than anything, and there wasn't a good place in the story for the details I came up with in my head.


	4. Season 1: Chapter 12 Deleted Scene (I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Meant to post this yesterday during lunch, but it was almost 4pm before I realized I never took lunch -.-
> 
>  **Summary** : One problem with traveling back in time is that you bring all that baggage from the future with you. Dean has a nightmare.
> 
>  **Type:** omitted scene (removed from the story but still happened in the TRSF(TTA) universe)
> 
>  **Characters** : Dean, Cas, Sam
> 
>  **Timeline** : Takes place after Season 1: Chapter 12
> 
>  **Chapter Recap** : Having gotten back on the road from their misadventure at their old home in Lawrence, Kansas, Dean prayed that night for Cas, for any version of him to show, because he couldn't keep going it alone. Sadly, the angel didn't answer, in dream or in person, and Dean was left on his own.
> 
>  **Warnings** : Solid T rating on this one. One line may push it into M territory for a single graphic depiction of violence that goes a bit past what the show has. Please proceed with caution if you're A. squeamish or B. have any triggers concerning beatings.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Season 1: Chapter 12**

_Deleted Scene_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

_He was running. Feet slapping against the hard floor of the bunker, blood rushing in his veins, heart pounding in his ears. His pursuer was right on his heels, breath heavy, fingers streaked in blood, eyes rimmed red and bulging. Dean couldn't allow him to catch up. This was his territory, though, his home turf. He knew these hallways and doors better than his attacker, and he'd lose him in these walls until he could come up with a Plan B._

_A flash of tan caught his peripheral, and he managed to slam his body through a side door before he could be tackled. Dean slammed the wooden door shut as soon as he was inside, barring it with the back of a chair and moving through the large storage room as quickly as he could in the packed space. There was another door in the back – a hidden staircase that should take him back up to the main level._

_This was his home turf, damn it._

_The door splintered behind him as he pulled back the shelf marking the hidden door. A pair of black loafers and slacks burst through the door and Dean caught sight of bleeding red eyes beneath a mop of messy black hair before he was gone through the door and up the stairs._

_His pursuer gave chase. The hunter could hear him hacking through the door, pulling splinters of wood apart with bare hands in a bid of insanity that far passed frantic and hit rabid. Dean took the stairs two at a time, listening best he could past the blood in his ears and the pounding of his feet. He barreled through the door at the top of the stairs, coming back out in the library._

_The war room was just to his left. If he could make the stairs, he might be able to bar the bunker door shut behind him and activate the warding in reverse. He might be able to lock his attacker inside until Sam got back and the two of them could tackle the most recent shit show together._

_A weight slammed into him from behind and Dean had half a second to chastise himself for losing track of his pursuer, for planning instead of listening. Then he was hitting the floor hard enough for the wind to be punched from his lungs and his ribs and diaphragm to protest the harsh treatment_

_There was a growl – low and feral – just behind his ear and Dean did everything he could to roll on his back beneath the weight. He caught the hand that arced towards his eyes, hands spread and tense to the point of shaking, blunt, human fingernails bloodied and poised like claws. Dean wrapped his attacker's wrist in a fierce grasp, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, but he knew it was the only thing that might hold a candle against the inhuman strength of the man above him._

_No, not a man._

_"Cas-" he gasped as he stared at those red, bloodshot, bleeding eyes that looked at him and saw nothing but a victim. "You gotta fight it, man."_

_The fist coming down was hardly unexpected, but the force of it plowing straight into his temple was. Dean saw stars, head snapping to the side, and it was enough for his grip to falter on the other wrist. A second fist joined the party, and his head snapped side to side as Castiel reigned punch after punch on the downed hunter._

_His friend was still in there, he knew it. Otherwise, Dean wouldn't have made it this far. It was for that reason he couldn't do much more than block the attack with feeble arms. Cas was still in there; he couldn't hurt him._

_Worse yet, he was like this because of Dean. Rowena had done this to him – stripped him of his control, turned him into a weapon and then turned him on his friends – because they were working together to remove the mark._

_Another fist landed hard on his nose and Dean's head slammed into the hard wood of the library floor. He choked on the gasp as blood burst into his nasal cavity, filling his throat and causing him to cough and spit up a mouthful of the metallic liquid._

_Hell of a time to not have the mark._

_'No,' he thought viciously, squashing the thought as soon as it came. It was too late, though. Fear was already flooding him, ratcheting up his pulse and the rabid dog above him – but still his friend, still Castiel – growled dangerously low in his throat as he sensed it._

_If he had the mark, Cas would be perceived as threat – more than a threat:_ _**prey** _ _– and Dean would kill him. He tries not to think it, but the angel above him had already sensed it, sensed that his victim might put up more of a fight, and he dropped the kid gloves Dean knew he'd been wearing._

_The kid gloves that had given him the last bit of hope that his friend was still in there, that he could fight this off and save them both. But whatever was left of Cas in there was overpowered by the spell, and Dean knew that now it was a game of staying alive long enough for Sam to get back and get him out of this._

_And not for himself. No, this wasn't about keeping himself alive for the sake of living. Hell, he deserved whatever Cas could dish at him. He'd almost killed him in this same damn room a month ago – not even – and that was the last of a long list of shit he'd dished out to his best friend. Cas was in this state because of him, and Dean would take that retribution, but if the angel killed him, he'd never forgive himself. He'd never get over it, never be able to live with it. Dean couldn't let the angel lose himself, again, because of him. Not again._

_Then something changed. There was an itch on his forearm, a building heat that tingled for a moment and then raged like an inescapable inferno._

' _No.'_   _Fear flooded him, but he refused to look. It couldn't be real if he didn't look. It couldn't be. They'd gotten rid of it. That was the whole reason he was in this mess! The reason his friend had him pinned to the bunker floor, blood spurting from his nose and face beat to hambuger meat. Because they'd gotten rid of the mark, and this was just another fucking consequence of their careless actions._

" _C-Cas, please," he gargled, fear painting his voice to a mere whisper. The heat was building, and he couldn't help it. He caught Cas's wrist as it came down on him again, and his forearm was there, bared for all to see, with the flaming, irritated Mark of Cain right back in place. "You have to s-stop…. No…"_

_Castiel either wasn't sane enough to notice, or too far gone to care. He pulled at his wrist, but Dean was focused on the mark. The angel struck him in the temple with his free hand, and Dean's head snapped to the side, but his eyes never left that mark. The fist came down again and again, and then Dean wasn't Dean anymore._

_He knew the change more than he felt it. The fear that shifted to anger, regret to hatred, acceptance to cruel revenge. Suddenly Castiel was beneath him. He was straddling the angel, raining punch after punch down on the defenseless man. Cas's eyes were clear of the red and blood and rage, instead filling with water, pleading and desperate and so damn sad. Those ethereal pools of blue watched him even as they darkened beneath each hit, swelled with injury, reddened with burst blood vessels so different from the curse he'd suffered moments ago._

" _Don't do this to yourself, Dean." It was a plea. He was begging._

_Good, he liked it when they begged._

_He sat back on the angel, settling his weight, heavy and right across the trim lower abdomen of Jimmy Novak's body. The angel did not move beneath him and Dean smiled, depraved, down at the beautiful sight of blood and pain. He reached out with his left arm, sliding along the angel's side, fingers searching for flesh blindly as he kept his dark eyes locked on that desperate blue. Castiel's hand twitched when Dean found his fingers, and the wielder of the First Blade grinned at the reaction._

_The pads of his fingers slid along flesh, over his palm, down his wrist and the pulse point there, then up, beneath the sleeve of that damn trench coat. Tantalizingly sweet, if not for the taunting action the angel knew it was. Cas watched him passively, those swollen eyes more confused at the sensory input he dare classify as comforting contrasted to the pain around him and the danger above him._

_When Dean pulled his hand back, he brought the angel's blade with it. Blue eyes widened in understanding, and the hunter enjoyed the fear he saw there. He enjoyed the way they slid down the length of sharp metal as he raised the weapon, the way they shifted to the man behind the blade._

" _This time, I won't miss."_

" _Please, Dean," the angel whispered, eyes locked on green. "Please wake up."_

_When he drove the sword home, it wasn't a warning shot._

_-o-o-o-_

"Dean, wake up!"

Dean shot straight out of the bed, tumbling onto the floor and half tripping as the blankets wrapped around his legs and tried to bring him down. He stumbled through them, kicking and punching at things that weren't real in this world. The hunter went down hard, ending up on his ass on the rough hotel carpet.

Sam was half sitting in the other bed, staring at him with wide, worried eyes. He looked about a second away from climbing off the bed, but knew better than to approach the wild animal that was currently his older brother.

"Dean."

The hunter shook his head and held up a hand in the negative. He needed a minute. A minute to focus on lowering his pulse, to calm the painful slamming of his heart beneath his chest, to slow his chest as it heaved for oxygen, lungs starving for it and had been for some time given the dizziness in his head and the swaying room around him.

He needed to focus on all that, and not the image of Castiel's sword, embedded straight through his eye to pierce the floor beneath his shattered skull, Dean's fist still wrapped around the hilt, and nope-

The hunter was up and in the bathroom heaving his guts into the toilet before he ever registered moving. Then Sam was standing in the bathroom door, a silent watchman to his suffering and embarrassment, and Dean wondered how long he'd been emptying his stomach to have not noticed his brother approach.

"You okay?"

He nodded, head pressed against the cool ceramic of the toilet bowl that he didn't have the energy to even hope was halfway clean.

"That was a bad one."

_'Understatement of the century, Sammy.'_

"Yeah."

Sam waited half a beat. "Wanna talk about it?"

He swallowed heavily around the lump in his throat. Talk about it? Talk about his subconscious reminding him of just the most recent in a lineup of giant screw-ups he'd made concerning his best friend and the entire world? How he'd almost killed the only guy who gave a shit beside his brother because of another stupid choice he'd made? Another decision he'd accepted the unknown consequences of, fuck all else, just so he wouldn't have to face the harder choice of failure? The decision that had ended the world, and would have ended him too if Cas hadn't sent him back.  _Died_  to send him back.

But no.  _Dean Winchester_  didn't believe in letting go, accepting defeat, or facing the fucking music.  _Dean Winchester_  always had another way out, no matter the cost to everyone else.

Like Cas's life, in that library. Or his sanity, mere months later when Rowena turned him into an attack dog. Like Sam, having to chase after his older brother because he'd lost all sense of attachment to anything that wasn't blood, pain, and murder. How had that ended again? Oh, right, with a hammer and the bunker on lock down.

Dean dry heaved at that point; there was nothing left in his stomach.

"Doesn't matter," he muttered as he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. It wasn't going to happen. He would stop it this time. Wouldn't make those mistakes again.

' _Great,_ ' his mind supplied sarcastically.  _'Good for you. Doesn't mean they didn't happen the first time.'_

The problem with time travel was that even if he did right all his wrongs, even if he did make all the saves and somehow get that happily ever after, Dean didn't get to leave the baggage of all those other times he'd failed, in a world that didn't even exist anymore. Because it may not have happened in this timeline, but it had still happened. He'd made those choices, cost those lives, broken those people closest to him, and he was never going to be free of that. He didn't get to forget just because he went back in time.

"I'm alright," he finally muttered to Sam, and it was the biggest damn lie he'd told so far, but what else was he supposed to say?

-o-o-o-

Sam left his brother to wash out his mouth and brush his teeth; the smallest of consolations you could make to clean the taste out of your mouth. You couldn't scrub the nightmare from your mind. Sam knew; he'd had his fair share throughout his life. Lately it was Jess, burning on the ceiling because he hadn't been there to stop it. Dean hadn't never snuck into his apartment or taken him on that hunt, or sometimes he did show up and they went after that woman in White and Sam didn't make it back in time. Sometimes he made it back in time, but could do nothing, pinned to the wall by the weight of yellow irises as his best friend lit his girlfriend on fire with black eyes and a perfect smile.

The young Winchester climbed back into bed, though he doubted he'd get to sleep any more than Dean would. Instead, he pulled out his laptop, opened his research on Cassius Longinus and dug back in.

Dean wasn't just scared of whoever this "Cass" was, he was petrified. He'd heard his brother scared before, both on real hunts and in nightmares, but this was an entire knew level. He'd been pleading for his tormentor to stop, begging him in a voice Sam had never heard come from Dean's mouth before. Whatever the demon had done to ensure Dean's cooperation, he had his older brother firmly in his clutches.

Well, Sam would find a way to end that. He'd save his brother, whether or not Dean was willing to admit he needed the rescue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Reason it wasn't Included** : Just wasn't enough time. In addition, as a one-shot posted here, I was able to go a bit darker and more violent with it then I likely would have it if were included in the final draft of TRSF(TTA)
> 
>  **Next up:** my favorite (super short) deleted scene so far and our first cut-completely-from-the-story-not-even-canon-cuz-damn-you-uncooperative-canon-timeline: a certain Marine makes his debut ten years early when he spots our favorite boys on a local news report.


	5. Season 1: Chapter 14 Deleted Scene (I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Summary** : A certain Marine is home from active duty and spots a man he's been looking for, for a long time now.
> 
>  **Type:** Cut scene (an idea removed from the story entirely and not cannon to the TRSF(TTA) universe. See end for more notes)
> 
>  **Characters** : Cole Trenton
> 
>  **Timeline** : Takes place in Season 1: Chapter 14
> 
>  **Chapter Recap** : Sam and Dean have just escaped Meg, who showed up at a diner in Sacramento, California after tailing them looking for John. They managed to expel the demon and save Meg Masters, but it looked like a kidnapping and they made the news that night as far as Wyoming.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Season 1: Chapter 14**

_Deleted Scene_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The milk was almost bad.

It tasted alright, mostly, with just a hint of sour tinge on the tip of his tongue, but the smell was worse. Not bad enough not to drink. He'd already poured the cereal, after all, but he'd probably have to dump the rest of it when he was done. It wasn't going to last another day, and he didn't want it stinking up the fridge once it did go.

It was pretty full, too. What a waste.

Cole Trenton hunched over the cheap laminate countertop of his temporary accommodations and ate his breakfast standing. He wouldn't call this place home; it wasn't. It was just the place the military most often put him up in when he was stateside from his latest tour. A week here, a month there. They insisted he take the time off and 'recuperate.' Problem was, Cole wasn't really the recuperating type. He'd tinker with a couple side projects, dig into that old file he had on his father's cold case, which had turned over no new leads in more than a decade. Really, he'd just putz around, pretending he wasn't twitching to get back out there and onto the next deployment.

The TV flickered on the edge of his vision, and he glanced at the somewhat shaky camera showing the outside of a diner. The newscaster narrated over the footage, discussing a kidnapping case in northern California with a bizarre happy ending, though the two suspects remained at large.

Cole wasn't really paying the story much attention. He liked having the news on in the background whenever he cooked. Which, considering this was his usual breakfast routine, wasn't that often. But he was a damn good cook when he actually took the time.

He raised a spoon full of cheerios, dripping milk back into his bowl, when the TV flashed to two rough police sketches of the men who had kidnapped a young girl from the Sacramento diner. Cole dropped the spoon, heedless of the splash of milk it created as he stared down the face of his father's murderer.

The man in the sketch was older, as well he should be given the ten years that had passed since Cole had last seen him. But it  _was_  him. He'd never forget those eyes. Those cold, monstrous green eyes that had watched him, stared up at him, standing over his father's body, covered in blood that was still warm and dripping.

Cole set the cereal bowl down with a calm that only came from years of training and the kind of patience that let a man pursue his father's murderer without stop for more than a decade. He jabbed a finger against the television screen, right between the eyes of the man known only as 'Dean' by the Sacramento authorities.

"Got you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Reason it wasn't Included** : This would have absolutely been the ending of chapter 14, or at least included somewhere in it, if the timelines fit. Sadly, they don't.
> 
> I loved Cole in the show and I thought they could have done a lot more with him than they did. For this story, I got it in my head that he spotted the boys on TV for something they did that hadn't happened first time around. I was SO EXCITED about it. I have an entire story planned out for him in this universe where he's chasing after Dean from the get-go, hunting him from siting to siting and, darn it, and I can't use any of it! Because he was thirteen in 2003 when his father was murdered, making him only sixteen now. [insert wailing and tears]. I don't want sixteen-year-old Cole. I want badass former Marine Cole who can infiltrate the bunker (whenever it shows up), take a certain someone hostage because she's the only one in the bunker at the time (no spoilers) and be a general pain in the ass until our boys obviously convert him into a kickass hunter (and later becomes besties with said spoiler girl who's kind of always wondered what it would be like to be held hostage. Really not as fun as she'd hoped (her words, not mine).)
> 
> Anyway, can you tell my anguish? So we'll get his story here, one by one in cut scenes, because there's no way I'm not writing them. He's too awesome to be left out.
> 
> ...Although if enough people vote for his inclusion in the story while *knowingly* accepting the chronological issues... Well, then as someone who repeatedly swears she writes for the audience and their input, I'd simply have to comply [wink wink, nudge nudge]
> 
>  **Ready for a Follow-up Rant?** If Cole was 13 when his father was murdered in 2003, and he found the boys in season 10 (2014) then he was only 24/25 when he confronted Dean. First of all, Travis Wade (Cole's actor) is far older, and it fits the character he played for him to be so. This is clearly meant to be a man in his thirties with lots of life experience, two special ops tours, and a family. Speaking of, point number two: twenty-four(ish) is awfully young to have a kid who's…I'm gonna say eight? (and I think that's really stretching it; he looks more like 12 in that single scene we get with him)
> 
> Come on, it's not fair * **I** * don't get to use Cole in my timeline just because I'm respecting * **their** * timeline that doesn't even make sense to begin with!
> 
> (Vote him onto the TRSF Island, guys!)
> 
>  **Getting Real for a Second:** For the record, if I do decide to break canon-chronology and include Cole, it would be somewhere down the line for TRSF(TTA). I would not go back and make changes to the current story. Cole would see the boys on TV whenever they make statewide news next (which would likely be the shifter bank heist)


	6. Season 2: Chapter 3 Deleted Scene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/Ns:** This may be a little known fact for all you beautiful readers, but I am a giant (GIANT) superhero nerd behind all this Supernatural knowledge. Therefore, due to Infinity War, I have done no writing at all this past week and spent so little time focusing on any other fandom that there will not be a new chapter for TRSF(TTA) this weekend. I apologize for this; it will be up in a week instead. In the meantime, I present to you all that nice, long, deleted scene I promised. Reminder that this isn't as edited as a normal TRSF chapter, so it's a little rough around the edges.
> 
>  **Summary** : The one in which John Winchester doesn't die, Dean gets a free pass anyway, we see Cas so much earlier, and the author starts juggling AUs of her AU of an already 13-season long show. Oi vey.
> 
>  **Type:** Cut scene (removed from the story/universe and is an alternate series of events in TRSF(TTA))
> 
>  **Characters** : Dean, Sam, John, Cas, Azazel
> 
>  **Timeline** : Replaces the second half of Season 2: Chapter 3
> 
>  **Chapter Recap** : Dean is a spirit in the McLaren Flint hospital, trying to warn Sammy about John's upcoming suicide move. He's managed to communicate with his brother via the Ouija board and the two of them along with Tessa have split up to search the hospital for John.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Season 2: Chapter 3**

_Deleted Scene_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The slight tremor running through his fingers was the only sign of his fear as he held the match, aflame and steadying burning toward the base, above the summoning bowl. John gritted his teeth against that tiny shake, cursing his hesitation and his weakness. He was doing this for Dean. Whatever his fate was, whatever happened to him, didn't matter if it meant his son lived.

A door in the distance slammed open, causing the hunter to jump. His fingers fumbled with the match, usually so steady and dependable, and he cursed as the thing tumbled to the ground, missing the bowl, and extinguishing against the cold cement. With a low rumble, John willed his hands steady as he quickly pulled another match from the box and struck it along the side.

"Dad, stop!"

He didn't release the burning match, once more hovering above the contents of the bowl, resting between the six points of his summoning circle. No, instead he hesitated once more, and cursed his weakness. Cursed his son's intelligence and persistence. The hunter and father didn't look behind him, where he knew his youngest stood, chest and shoulders heaving, recovering from what was no doubt a frantic search once he'd found John's room empty and no X-ray appointments scheduled.

"Dad, please," Sam whispered, hazel eyes locked on that little flame, visible just over his father's shoulder, hovering above his dad's fate. "Don't summon him."

"It's the only way to save your brother." John's voice was wrecked; another thing for him to curse at in his head. He didn't know why he was bothering to explain himself. Maybe it was to prove to his boy that this wasn't about revenge. Maybe it was to prove it to himself. Maybe it was just an excuse. Maybe, and he gritted his teeth at the thought, it was just another way for his cowardice to stall.

Sam was shaking his head, hands held out in a placating gesture. Or to show he wasn't armed. It could be either or in the Winchester household. "It's not. Dad, Dean won't die. Believe me, we can save him, there's another way."

"That faith healer you boys found?" It was John's turn to shake his head. "Dean said you ended that, and we're not going to find another, Sammy. Not in time."

"We will," Sam insisted, his voice sure and confident in a way John could only categorize as denial. "I will find a way, because this isn't where Dean dies, Dad. Please, I need you to believe me. He's not dying here."

John's fingers trembled around the little flame, burning every closer to his fingernails. He'd need to drop it or blow it out. It seemed like some sort of cosmic, pivotal decision. The stalwart hunter shook the thought off as ridiculous. He could always light another match, after all.

"Dad," Sammy took a step closer, "look at me."

John could not deny his youngest the request, not when it could be his last. Hazel eyes slid over his shoulder, flame still burning, and he drank in the sight of his kid like a man in the desert closing his eyes on his last, happy illusion provided by the heat that was killing him. Water blurred his vision, but he stoically blinked it back into his skull. Tears would not be the undoing of John Winchester.

"He's not dying here," Sam reiterated, and John could see that confidence in his eyes now. Not denial, not recklessness. Sam was sure – 100% sure – that they could save Dean. "Give me the time to prove it."

The hunter hesitated, turned his head back to the summons, stared at the bowl and the match and his son's future in his hands.

"For once in your life, Dad, will you just  _trust me_!"

John stared at the flickering flame growing closer to his fingers, hovering above the black and yellow grinds of little known herbs, surrounded by tea light candles lit at each pinnacle of the inverted Aquarian star.

He leaned forward and blew out the match.

-o-o-o-

Dean cleared every floor between the ground and roof, speeding up his search exponentially by realizing he could walk right through walls and stick his neck straight through solid doors, so long as he didn't think about it. When he thought about it, he usually slammed forehead first into a very solid surface, scaring anyone in the vicinity with the resounding thud and shaking surfaces.

If the hunter ever thought ghosts couldn't feel pain, he knew better now. And probably owed a few angry spirits some half-hearted apologies.

He met Tessa as she descended the stairs from the roof, a decent hustle in her step leading Dean to his answer before he even asked the question, "Anything?"

The reaper shook her head. There was an interesting mix of worry and skepticism in her seafoam green eyes, and Dean couldn't blame her. They'd searched the whole damn hospital. If John was doing this – and he was, Dean knew he was – maybe it wasn't here.

Could John have summoned Azazel off the grounds and returned once the deal had been struck? It seemed less likely, but nothing in the Winchesters' lives was impossible.

Hospital alarms started blaring distantly, causing both Tessa and Dean to turn their ears and heads down the stairs. The sound was several floors away, muffled by heavy refuge walls and closed doors into the stairwell.

"Code Blue," the intercom sparked to life with a calm, slightly accented female voice. "Room 751."

Dean's eyes widened with realization, and he looked at Tessa, caught between panic and anticipation. Like being a step away from throwing yourself off a cliff. "That's my room."

The reaper gave his ghostly form a once over, just as the hunter did the same, holding his arms out and scanning down his body, expecting to see the flicker of nonexistence and the searing flash of pain that came with getting one step closer to a severed connection with life.

Nothing happened.

Tessa shook her head. "You're stable."

Dean breaths out in relief, but his brow is already pinched. "Then what the hell-" he stopped with a quick inhale. Locking eyes with the reaper, he breathed out, "Sam. Well that's one hell of a way to get somebody's attention!"

The hunter leapt down the stairs two at a time and he heard Tessa following behind as they took off for his room and his brother who, hopefully, had some good news. Dean wouldn't be here if he didn't, right? The man from the future just kept repeating that. Couldn't still be a ghost if his Dad had sold his soul to bring him back.

-o-o-o

Sam was apologizing to the nurse when they skidded through the open door to room 751. The alarms had stopped before they'd even made it to the seventh floor, and an announcement over the PA had canceled the call for Dean's main doctor. The hunter smirked at his hunched over, towering brother as he played flustered and apologetic like a damn Oscar nominated pro for the annoyed nurse.

"It won't happen again, I'm so sorry," the sasquatch promised as he reiterated that he hadn't meant to knock the finger clip lose, and again, he was  _so_ sorry.

The nurse gave him the stink eye, gaze drifting to John, who stood to the side with a stern, fatherly expression aimed at Sam's back, arms crossed. Her eyes darted, only for a second, to the Ouija board still spread across the floor, and the sigh that slumped her form and softened her eyes was world-weary. With another warning, she left the room, a last pitying look at the poor father who had one kid dying on the bed and the other clearly not taking it well.

Once she was through the door, it shut on its own, lock depressing into place.

Sam straightened, act gone in the blink of an eye and hopeful expression darting around the hospital room. "Dean?"

But Dean was busy, staring at his father, standing at the foot of his bed looking awkward as hell but very much alive and  _not_  summoning Azazel.

"You did it, Sammy," he breathed out in awe. Then he let out a loud whoop. "You DID it!"

The papers on his chart attached to the bed ruffled with his excitement. The curtains fluttered by the closed window, and the tubes attaching him to the various machines swayed. Sam smiled brightly at all of them, while John eyed them a little more warily.

"Dean?" his father asked, a weird tightness in his voice as he glanced to his son's body.

The man from the future all but skipped over to the Ouija board, dropping to his knees and grabbing onto the planchette. It was well on its way to 'Yes' before Sam settled himself across the board, stilling grinning.

They'd saved John Winchester.

Dean almost couldn't believe it. Hadn't dared to hope – okay, so he totally had – that they'd be able to do it, to keep their father alive. Now they needed to keep him that way.

It took time to spell out the steps they needed to take, which was ultimately frustrating and Dean tried to cut corners with acronyms and misspellings as often as possible. It caused confusion about as much as it actually saved time, but they got there in the end.

Their dad was demon proofing the room as much as they could without leaving visible evidence while Sam translated Dean's garbled spelling and impatience as he explained why Azazel would come after them once John failed to summon him. Sam didn't bother censoring the information, and with each added piece, their father sent glances over his shoulder at the board.

"How does your brother know all this?" John asked suspiciously, and it didn't take a genius to see the gears in his head turning. "How do we even know this is Dean?"

"It's him," Sam answered confidently without bothering to look at his dad. He was writing down every letter Dean sent, both for reading back and because it was sometimes the only way to decipher his brother's half-formed words. When the carving sounds John had been making as he dug a trench along the top of the doorframe to fill with salt were replaced with silence, Sam finally looked up to his find his father staring at him, a lecture warring with the ever-present anger across his face. The youngest Winchester kept his expression as neutral as possible as he said, with emphasis, "Trust me, dad. Alright?"

John didn't look nearly satisfied with that, but he grumbled and went back to finishing his little salt moat.

Dean left his father and brother to finishing the room once he'd conveyed his intentions and Azazel's plans. There wasn't much he could do as a ghost to help his family demon proof a space people would be walking in and out of regularly. So instead he turned his gaze to the reaper, standing by his bedside, staring down at his body.

"Can you sense the demon when he shows? Give us some warning?"

Tessa turned her cool gaze his way, and he already knew they'd reached the end of their little team up. She was giving him  _that_  look again. It had worked better on Cas's face; she should have stuck with that. "It's time, Dean."

Dean stood from the floor, shaking off his hands even though it was impossible to pick up dirt or dust as a ghost. He returned her pointed look with his own, and she just sighed. "You promised."

"I promised if I was dead." He pointed to his body, then to himself. "I'm not dead yet."

The reaper let out a little huff of air that was probably as much of a growl as the reserved woman ever gave. Her voice, when she spoke, was frustrated and had that sort of clipped tone that everyone got when they were biting out words they didn't actually mean to say. "The only reason you're not dead is because you're being tethered to your body! You should be well on your way to angry spirit at this point. You  _need_  to move on, Dean."

Dean, frozen up pretty much after that first sentence, was staring at her with a pinched brow. "What? What do you mean, tethered?"

Tessa closed her eyes for a mere moment of annoyed regret, before they opened and seafoam green trailed just over his shoulder. This time, he couldn't help but turn, already knowing he would see nothing. It had been almost two days of nothing. Still, his breath hitched and he knew instantly who it is she could see while he couldn't.

"Cas?" His head whipped back to Tessa for confirmation and her shoulders slump just a fraction. Half frustration, half understanding.

"He's keeping your soul connected to your body," she supplied softly.

Dean looked over his shoulder again, straining his non-existent eyeballs trying to see anything of his friend. He eventually gave up and focused back on Tess. "Why can't I see him?"

"He's just a shadow, Dean." She hadn't lied about that. She hadn't lied much at all, only twisted the words that made up the truth. "A sliver of grace, and he's using what's left to keep you alive when you shouldn't be."

The hunter looked again, uselessly but with a gaze that was a lot softer and less searching. It was in that moment, with those damn green eyes, that Tessa knew she'd lost her charge to the angel. Or, she supposed, it was far more that Castiel hadn't lost his charge to her. She did not know their story, but the two were clearly bonded in a way she had not seen in her lifetime.

"He will listen to you, if you ask him to let you go," she offered softly, trying one final time to give this man the peace and rest he deserved, already knowing it wasn't going to work.

Dean just shook his head and offered a cocky, predictable smile. "This isn't where I die, Tess. I've got people to save. Work to do. I'll risk angry spirit for that."

She opened her mouth, maybe to argue, maybe to accept that, but he cut her off.

"I get it's your job to offer me the choice. I'm choosing to stay." That cocksure smile turned a little more sincere, and she found herself closing her jaw. "If you've got other souls to ferry, you should do that. I'll be alright."

For some reason, she believed him a hundred percent. Still, she hesitated a moment more. There was an undeniable, incredibly annoying affection she was forming for Dean Winchester.

"See ya around, Tess."

Finally, the reaper rolled her eyes at him, but there was a little quirk to the corner of her lips. "I sure hope not, Dean."

With that, she was gone, and Dean let out a breath of air. Alright, so Tessa helping them against the demon was out. He'd sort of figured that. Actually, she'd helped more already than he'd thought she would. So this was alright.

A light pressure against his shoulder – something so barely there he could be imagining it – caused the hunter to glance at the top of his arm. There was nothing there, but he was pretty sure there was a hand resting against his skin.

"Cas? Any chance you've got some brilliant plan you're keeping to yourself?"

There was no answer, but Dean swore he felt that weight increase ever so incrementally. A squeeze, maybe.

Okay, so no Cas help either. Nerd angel was apparently busy with his own task: keeping Dean alive long enough for him to save his ass on his own. That was alright too. Dean would figure this out, and just knowing his friend was there would have to be enough.

He raised his left hand, settling it atop that slight weight, hoping Cas was there and saw the gesture.

Then he coughed, awkward as hell, and lowered his hand away from his own shoulder. Even if his brother and father couldn't see him, that was just embarrassing. Friggin' chick flick moments, man. They were the worst.

Dean blinked as his eyes, having drifted off as he concentrated on that weight on his shoulder and maybe some connection he had to the angel riding around in his chest, focused back in on the room. He found himself staring at Bobby's duffel bag, resting on the bed beside his comatose legs. The zipper was partially open, contents inside haphazard. Sam had clearly caught John in the damn nick of time, given that there was a big bowl with mixed ingredients tipping kinda dangerously in there. But it was giving Dean an idea.

They needed a way to get Azazel off John's back. The demon was going to keep coming, just in case his father was the one who would break the first seal. He could still hear Alistair, his voice slurping up salt and blood, whispering the truth of his father's fate, so similar to his own strung up on that rack. Hell thought John could be the Righteous Man, and they'd try to break him to find out. They weren't going to give him up so easily, and in the meanwhile Dean still needed to get back into his body. He didn't exactly know how long Cas could hold on.

Staring at the bag full of summoning stuff, a thought occurred to him. A really, really, really stupid, suicidal, no good thought.

-o-o-o-

They were in the basement once more. Well, first time for Dean, who appraised the space with an approving eye. Yup, this is where he would summon a demon too. It figured John would find it.

Night had fallen over the hospital several hours ago. Sam had been asked to leave once visiting hours were over, and they agreed to meet back up once the facility quieted down. John snuck out of his room after the last shift change. Dean didn't have to do much sneaking, being a ghost and all, and followed his father to the rendezvous spot.

"I can't believe we're doing this," Sam muttered as he firmed up the lines from his father's previous chalk-drawn symbol. It hadn't faded much in the half dozen hours since he'd caught the man down here and talked him into waiting, but summoning spells weren't the time for slacking off. John pulled a box of matches from his pocket, shaking the little thing before withdrawing a single stick and striking it aflame.

"I'm right there with ya, bro," Dean responded, eyeing the pipes and machines around them, identifying nooks and crannies their enemy might take advantage of. This was a seriously stupid idea, but Dean didn't have any others, and whether it was Cas draining dry or Azazel catching up to John, they were on the clock.

Their father took a deep breath, eyeing Sam one last time, before he dropped the lit match into the bowl below. The contents blazed to life, burning fast and violently. Smoke plumed from the rim and John took a hasty step back, drawing the Colt and gripping it restlessly in his hand.

This was a stupid, stupid idea.

"Well, well. What a surprise."

Three pairs of eyes snapped onto the Prince of Hell, who stood a few feet away, hands on his hips and dad-face painted on with a grin as he took in the three of them. Those pale irises settled on Dean.

"Figured we should talk," the ghost hunter offered casually – a lot more casually then he felt – and Azazel's eyes narrowed. He never lost the smug smirk, though.

Beside them, Sam's head bounced back and forth between the yellow eyed demon and the empty spot he was grinning at. Azazel spared him a quick glance – always his favorite – before he snapped his fingers with a wrist flair that would have given Gabriel a run for his money. Dean suddenly found two sets of eyes locked on him in a way they hadn't for two damn days now.

"Dean?" Sam asked, shocked, as he looked the very corporeal ghost up and down, having blinked one minute and found his brother materialized in front of him the next.

The hunter glanced at himself, but he didn't look or feel any differet. Still, he wasn't gonna look a gift horse in the mouth. Dean smiled widely at his brother. "Heya, Sammy."

"So, what would you like to talk about, Dean-o?" Azazel drew their attention once more, smug smirk now matching his smug tone. So damn proud of himself, like  _he_ was the hero here.

"Dad's not the Righteous Man." Not much point in mincing words, not with a running clock and no way of reading the numbers.

One bushy Farmer Dan brow raised up elegantly, and the demon stared at the hunter like a cat. An evil, evil cat. "Interesting interpretation of a prophecy you shouldn't know anything about, kiddo."

"You know damn well how I know."

"Hmm," the demon practically purred as he raised one still-charcoaled arm up, flexing and wiggling his fried fingers playfully. "I have a theory, but why don't you share with the rest of the class."

Dean fought against the fiercely protective need to somehow shield Cas from those yellow eyes as they slid just over his shoulder. Yet another damn thing staring at the best friend he couldn't see, who was nesting in  _his_  friggin' chest, damnit.

"A little blue bird on my shoulder told me," he snipped bitchily. The demon chuckled.

"He is somewhat blue, isn't he?" The demon was purposefully keeping his eyes on the angel just behind him. It was like he knew Dean couldn't see Cas even if he did look. And the hunter had to fight the urge to do just that. "More of a loyal bitch than a bird, though."

Dean did not know what made him do it, or how he knew, but he put his hand out to his side to stop the angel from taking the menacing step forward that he was certain happened behind him. Maybe he just knew his friend well enough, or maybe he could somehow feel the movement at his backside, but either way, he was sure that was exactly what Cas was about to do.

Azazel eyed them with interest and no small amount of amusement and Dean was afraid he was giving too much away.

"John isn't the Righteous Man," Dean reiterated, forcefully pulling the conversation back to the matter at hand. Yellow eyes finally swiveled back to him and only him.

"So?"

The growl tingled the back of his throat, but he managed to withhold it behind clenched teeth. "So, you don't need him in Hell."

The demon tilted his head in a way that Dean was absolutely sure mocked the angel at his back. "What's your point?"

Ten counts were doing nothing here, and the hunter breathed sharply through his nose to keep from losing his shit completely. So far, Sammy and dad were letting him have center stage, but a quick glance their way suggested that wasn't going to last much longer. He took a deep breath, "You need me alive. Whatever comes next, you need me for it, don't you? As much as you need Sam."

He didn't chance a look at his brother. This was the most dangerous part of a  _really_  dangerous game. Playing off how much he didn't know with how much he actually did, and all pretending that it came from a divine bluebird and not a DeLorean.

"Heaven could care less if I die. If I'm out of the picture, Hell doesn't have much of a plan, and Heaven gets to avoid a war. So if you want to get to step B of your craptastic end of the world scheme, you're going to have to bring me back. Cuz I'm guessing if I bite it right now, I've got a one way ticket straight to Heaven and even you can't touch me there."

The morphing of the demons face from smug to scowling was a slow one, but it was there, especially in the face of Dean's own cocky grin. The hunter knew how much he was giving away; just how much 'heaven' had supposedly told him in this little timeline of theirs where he had an angel in his chest. Thank god Azazel didn't seem to know why. Dean was fairly confident if he knew about the time component of that little bonus package sitting on his sternum, the demon would have said something by now.

"I'm not a miracle worker," the Prince of Hell finally responded off-handedly, unwilling to show just how off-putting Dean Winchester's mouthy little bird was. "A demand like that would have to be part of a deal."

"We'll give you the Colt," John acquiesced, a rehearsed line from their pre-determined script of things they would and would not be offering the demon. He'd ground his teeth and gave his boys Hell for quite some time, until Dean reminded him that it was exactly what he had planned to offer the demon in the first place. That had shut his father up pretty quickly, though it was obvious by the fire in John's eyes that he wanted to know just where Dean was getting his intel from.

Yellow eyes slid his way, accompanied by a loose shrug. "Not good enough. Not powerful enough to rebind a soul. You need to sweeten the pot."

His toothy grin was sickening, and John suddenly found himself thankful he hadn't summoned this thing alone. Not that having his sons so close to the monster that murdered their mother was exactly calming.

"You don't have to rebind it," Dean argued, bolstered by that presence behind him he couldn't feel except for the weird surety it was there, "I've got the angel for that."

 _Keep it impersonal,_ he reminded himself with an internal nod.  _Don't let him know Cas is anything more than a messenger. A tool._

His stomach clenched against the thought, guilt threatening to flash across his face when they could least afford it. Dean managed to hide the little breath of air stolen from his lungs as that vague feeling of a hand on his shoulder lit across his skin once more and gave another barely perceptible squeeze.

Azazel's eyes narrowed and he jerked his head towards the space beyond Dean's form. "If you want to risk a soul bind on  _that_  empty tank, be my guest. You've no need for me, then. I'll see myself out of this little pow-wow."

All three humans tensed, and Dean winced at their blatant giveaway. Not that it was that revealing, really. If the angel could have brought him back by now, he would have. Even with them pretending Castiel was nothing but a messenger, they could have made some sort of arrangement with him instead of the demon. Azazel clearly had them there.

"What else do you want?" John bit out angrily, hand wrapped tightly around the grip of the Colt. It was clear how badly he wanted to use it. But this was Dean's only chance, far as they all could figure.

Yellow eyes and that sick grin slid his way like oil over water. "Smart hunter like you, John? I'm sure you can figure it out."

John Winchester's hands shook by his side. Sam hadn't told him much, but it had been enough to understand exactly what Yellow Eyes wanted. What he would ask for. It was something he'd known, without thinking about, before trying to summon him the first time. A possibility that he had accepted but refused to acknowledge.

"Me."

"Bingo!"

"No," Dean and Sam barked out at the same time, resounding refusals from either side of the Prince of Hell. He just smiled at them. Dean's teeth were clenched so hard his jaw shook. "I told you, he's not your man. You don't need him."

"You don't get something for nothing, boys," he said simplistically, a little innocent shrug in his shoulders making Sam sick. "You want me to bring someone back from the brink of death? It's gonna take a life."

"You're not taking him."

Azazel side-eyed the stubborn ghost of a hunter and considered a compromise. If Heaven and that little bird on Dean's shoulder were right, then he didn't need John. "Not now, maybe. How does ten years sound?"

His eyes slid back to the man in question, soul burning hot and angry in an aging body. He might make it ten years, if the job or the end of the world didn't get him first.

"What's the point of a ten-year deal if the Apocalypse is just around the corner?" Sam asked sharply, and Azazel shrugged in response, eyeing his favorite with pride and want. He couldn't wait to have the boy under his wing. Sam shuddered under his gaze, but held his chin high and his shoulders back. A fighter, that one, through and through.

"Well, if Dean and his itty bitty bird are so sure they're side's going to win, at least I get a consolation prize." The grin he flashed Sam was stomach-turning, and he did John the favor of sending it his way as well.

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but his father beat him to it. "Deal."

"Dad."

"It's okay, son," John countered softly, sending a weary smile towards his oldest. Like Dean and the demon had pointed out, it was no less than he'd been prepared to pay. "It's okay."

"Excellent!" Azazel clapped his hands together, then leaned forward a step and held his hand out to the hunter. "My gun, John?"

The hunter flicked his eyes down to the weighty Colt resting in his hand, hesitating with grief and the need to shoot the bastard right between the eyes. Twenty three years of need.

The Prince of Hell rolled his eyes and flexed his hand expectedly. "Don't be stupid, there, Daddy. I haven't saved him yet."

The hunter handed the gun over, refusing to so much as look at the exchange as he did so.

Azazel smiled pleasantly and stuck out his other hand. "Lovely doing business with you."

John reluctantly shook the demon's hand – a  _gentlemen's_  agreement – and Sam let out a startled sound as Azazel and Dean both immediately disappeared. "Dean!"

He shared an equally pressed look with his father in the empty space of the basement floor before the two bolted from their frozen spots, gunning for the stairs and the room seven floors up that, hopefully, held a brother and a son now breathing on his own accord.

-o-o-o-

Dean bolted upright in a hospital bed in McLaren Flint hospital, in Flint, Michigan, with no clue how he got there. His father and brother all but bursting into his room minutes after – shouts from harried nurses still ringing behind them to slow it the fuck down – was confounding, though comforting.

"I did what?" the young hunter echoed, balking with wide eyes as he listened to Sam's recap of the last two days. Two days which he had, apparently, spent as a fairly busy ghost. "And Dad's…alive?"

It was a stupid question. He'd seen John Winchester barrel right into his room, perfectly healthy (well, except for the cast around his forearm and sling around his and shoulder). The man had stepped out to deal with stunned nurses and baffled doctors. To concoct some story for his son's miraculous recovery and almost complete healing. Or, to at least listen to them be baffled by it and pretend to be as equally confounded. He'd even vocally confirmed with his boys that he'd be back, soon as possible.

But a deal with Azazel that cost them the Colt, John's soul, and saved Dean from death only meant one thing to the man from the future.

Sam still looked guilty over it, but he gave a half shrug and tried to embrace the silver lining. "He's got ten years, Dean."

That was a lot more than last time. Which, as he muttered it, was pretty much the same thing he'd said as a ghost. Apparently, ghost-him had up and told Sam everything via Ouija board. Well, not everything, because that would have taken a fucking millennia spelling out one letter at a time. But enough, apparently. John's deal, Hell's testing of him as the Righteous Man, the breaking of the first seal.

Awesome. Dean's stomach wanted to be somewhere in his throat and then quite possibly not in his body at all just thinking about it. He'd known he'd have to tell Sam eventually, but knowing and embracing it were two different things.

"Does Tessa know? About me being from the future."

Sam frowned sharply, the unfamiliar name ringing warning bells in his mind. "Tessa?"

"The reaper." Dean blinked at his brother, frowning. "There wasn't a reaper this time?"

The younger hunter looked truly confused. If there was one, Dean hadn't said anything about it. Sam offered as much, which made his older brother frown in turn. Dean didn't remember his first go-around, but he'd known that was where he'd first met Tessa. Remembered Sam mentioning his hunt for a reaper in the hospital, how the reaper had fixated on him. He remembered Tessa years later, when she'd shared that connection, however jumbled and one-sided it had been for him.

"Cas was there, though."

Dean did a friggin' double take, reaper all but forgotten. If he'd been drinking that glass of water he desperately wanted but was too busy being caught up to ask for, he would have done a spit take. "What?"

"You never said his name, but you and Azazel definitely talked about him. It seemed like he was able to see him, but you couldn't. Dad and I couldn't either." Sam shrugged again, wishing he could be more help. But the conversation down in the basement had been purposefully one-sided, for both him and John. Dean had warned them to stay out of it as much as possible, to keep the yellow eyed demon's focus on him.

Dean was rubbing his chest now, brow pinched. That settled it; if Cas really was sitting pretty in his chest, then they needed answers.

There was hesitant movement at the door, and both brothers turned to see their father standing just inside the doorway, a weak smile on his face as he stared at his children. "Hey, Dean."

The words, spoken from a man who should, for all rights, be dead, stole Dean's breath away. He found himself struggling out of the hospital bed before his brain registered the movement. The sheets tried to tangle his legs, but Sam offered a hand as Dean stood after two days in a coma, and crossed the room to wrap his arms so tightly around his father that he was sure he was aggravating those injuries. If he was, John didn't say a word. He just hugged as tightly back.

After a moment that was probably far too long for any Winchester man (except Samantha), John pulled back. There was water in his eyes, but, then again, there was water in everyone's eyes and no one was saying anything about it.

"So," John started, a laugh bubbling up from his chest, sounding wet and emotional. "Sam tells me you're from the future."

Dean actually laughed, though if it sounded suspiciously like 'sonofa' and 'bitch', no one called him on it either and he guessed he ( _and his dad_ ) could live with that.

For ten more years, anyway.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/Ns:** So. This was a terrible idea. Because you know what this means? This means I'm going to have to keep updating this side story with deleted scenes throughout TRSF(TTA) of what would be happening if John hadn't died. Just the pivotal stuff. And don't bother telling me I don't have to because, yeah, nope, we all know I do. Damn it. One AU was enough, now I have AUs of my AU and side timelines to my main timeline which is getting quite complicated and different from the original timeline [insert facepalm here] Somebody get me an advil :P
> 
>  **Up Next** : I skipped over the chapter with Garth's death in it to write this one. I'll get back to that one shortly – the sweet cinnamon roll deserves some attention and acknowledgement – if nothing else distracts me.
> 
> A new chapter of TRSF(TTA) will be up next Sunday. Sorry for the skip (blame the Avengers).


End file.
